Reincarnation, Know of It?
by CampionSayn
Summary: TFA. Every couple stellar cycles, Swindle meets with someone he's known longer than even Lockdown. Someone, perhaps, from another life. Various one-shots, set in TFA, but with hints of Armada. EXTREMELY onesided Swindle/Sureshock. (NOT an OC)
1. Reincarnation: I Was Lead Here

Title: Reincarnation, Know It?  
>Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, Swindle or Sureshock. They are all the property of HasbroTakara and company.  
>Summary: Every couple stellar cycles, Swindle meets with someone he's known longer than even Lockdown. Someone, perhaps, from another life.<p>

Pop Quiz: Can anyone tell me from which Transformers universe Sureshock comes from and what his/her sex is? First one to get the right answer gets a one-shot for a pairing of their liking. (Just nothing from Beast Wars or G1, I haven't seen much of those yet.)

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><p><em>Give me one reason why you look so sad,<br>A heart like yours wasn't made for that.  
>-Tiffany.<em>

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><p><em>Where the Pit are you going, slagger?<em>

_I'll be back, I'm just going out for some energon. I'll be back in an hour or so. Want anything?_

_Rust Sticks._

_My pleasure! See you in an hour!_

That was forty minutes ago and Swindle was still waiting outside of the expensive neutral bar, in the unfavorably snowy weather this particular planet offered, optics hoping to spot even just a small trace of orange before he had to go back to the ship with an agitated Lockdown.

Cycling his vents, purple optics watched the heated air rise from his mouth and string through the air a moment, a beautiful show of white against the black sky, before fading from its existence. Checking his internal timer, the arms dealer felt a vague sense of disappointment as another minute ticked away.

Hanging his helm a little, like a kicked puppy, and ready to just go inside and get what he told Lockdown he was going out for, he nearly onlined every weapon on him when he turned for the door to find a pair of yellow optics he hadn't seen in what felt like a life time stare back at him. The mech attached to the optics had a familiar thin frown on his faceplates with what the purple mech vaguely remembered being called a Clove cigarette clenched between his lips, and Swindle had to struggle not to just shout out humorously and hug the smaller mech.

"Sureshock! I didn't think you were coming!" Swindle cried, raising both arms in the suggestion of a hug.

The short mech gave Swindle a dull look and pulled him inside to the bar, both of them leaving a small, short trail of snow in their wake from outside; the white-ish frozen liquid a stark contrast to the red and black tiles. Swindle wasn't offended by Sureshock's silence. Over their years shared together the mech had come to accept it as the small mech's way of life. The guy was a hacker after all; silence was a valued commodity in that line of work.

Finding two empty seats near the end of the bar, they stood in semi-comfortable silence as they waited and finally ordered their drinks from the bartender. For Swindle; thick and heavy High Grade and for Sureshock; the thinnest Low Grade available with a Rust Stick. When the large, burly bartender walked away, Swindle offered the blowtorch installed in one of his fingers to Sureshock as the mech pulled out another Clove.

Giving the cigarette (a foreign concept to the arms dealer, seeing as it did nothing for Cybertronians other than give them an odd taste on their glossa) a heavy puff, Sureshock looked Swindle in the optics and got right down to business, "I've heard that you've been to Earth recently."

"Yes, actually. Terrible business. The Elite Guard, the lesser Autobots, the humans—"

"Don't go dissing the humans," Sureshock spoke in that no-nonsense way he always did with everyone he'd ever met.

"Why not? They're the reason I was stuck in an unmoving vehicle mode for almost a stellar cycle!"

"Oh, really? I thought that was Bumblebee."

Unceremoniously, Swindle banged his head on the bar. For as long as he'd known the shorter, meaner, orange mech, it was as if he knew everything about him, despite there being a whole galaxy between the two. He started wondering at least two hundred stellar cycles ago why he should be surprised. The mech and he had met in a hostile situation and Sureshock had already known everything about him.

It was funny really, when he thought about it. He'd tried making a deal in a seedy dive with a group of characters Lockdown had introduced him to and they had decided they wanted more from him than just weapons. They had wanted his chassis and like some cliché from a human movie, Sureshock had come from the shadows and beaten every last one of the slaggers to scrap. When they had run away, the orange mech had hauled Swindle up from his own tattered state on the floor, grabbed the weapons he'd been trying to sell and took him to his small ship to fix up the purple mech.

On board the strange ship, filled with many objects the arms dealer couldn't identify and many pictures of mechs and femmes on the walls with slashes running through them or words carved into the metal beneath where the pictures were situated, Swindle and Sureshock didn't talk very much until the orange mech starting asking him the strangest questions. Swindle had done his best to answer them truthfully, despite his confusion and by the end of the night they'd fully introduced themselves; Swindle the inter-galactic arms dealer and Sureshock the hacker.

They couldn't exactly be called friends, but Swindle often received calls from the orange cyclebot requesting orders for non-lethal weapons. That and occasionally, he would receive a well-paid request to get a hold of a few photos of specific mechs and femmes Sureshock had apparently been seeking for a very long time. Hence why they were in that bar at the moment.

Lifting his head back up as the bartender set their drinks in front of them; Swindle got a good look at Sureshock's smug grin, the cigarette moving precariously close to the edge of his lips in the process. That and the devious glint in his optics was all the provocation Swindle really needed to drop the subject of Earth and get down to why the Pit they were there.

Opening up his sub-space and pulling out his findings, Swindle handed the fantastically shorter mech his bounty with slightly less bravado than usual, grabbed his energon cube and took a large swig; he silently enjoyed the sensations left behind and delighted even more when Sureshock's ever stoic and seemingly lifeless faceplates lit up when he opened up the manila envelope given to him and looked over the instant photos of mechs Swindle had gotten, their names typed neatly in the white areas.

"Optimus Prime, Blurr, Megatron… Oh my Primus, Starscream!" Sureshock squeaked, servos flipping through the photos at rapid speeds, "I think I'll pay you extra, you fucking miracle worker!"

In spite of the knee-jerk reaction to accept such a generous offer, Swindle knew better and gave Sureshock a serious look, "No thank you. Lockdown will get suspicious if I come home with too many creds out of nowhere when I was just supposed to be getting energon and Rust Sticks."

"So, I'll pay for his Rust Sticks," Sureshock replied, waving a servo dismissively, "I can afford that tight-aft's food. What would you like, though?"

"Just my usual fee and a little quid pro quo," Swindle sighed, servo alerting the bartender that he needed a refill.

"Mm, okay," The cyclebot replied, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and snubbing it out on his stabilizing servo before he removed the Rust Stick from his own drink and starting chewing on it, "You first."

Holding his head in his servo, Swindle thought it over until his drink was refilled, took a small sip and tilted his head a little in his palm, optics gaining a faraway look to them.

"You told me when we met how you knew me and I still don't entirely believe you, but I would kind of like to know what I meant to you… back then."

Tiny servos swirled the Rust Stick in his own drink, but didn't make to swallow any of it. After all the years they had been doing the ever seductive withholding dance, Swindle had never popped this particular question and, quite frankly, Sureshock was a little unsure how to answer it. He was a secretive mech by nature; it was hard to open up to someone who had changed so drastically over the years. Swindle supposed that he didn't like the thought of rejection. After all, the last couple of photos he'd brought the mech had ended the night in his companion becoming rather depressed. If Swindle recalled, they were photos of two Decepticons under Strika's command: Cyclonus and Blackout.

Sureshock had not been happy with those ones. Swindle still got paid, but the orange neutral left with a sulk and a pack of High Grade cubes.

"…I liked you when you were…when you and your partner were with the Autobots and I. You were a wise-ass adrenaline junkie, but you were a good person who was nice…to my partner…when she was alive. You would have liked more from me, but at the time…I just wasn't looking for anything but safety and security."

"I couldn't give you that?"

Sureshock shook his head, forlorn but smiling in that secret way, "No. You were nice, but you couldn't give me what I needed."

The arms dealer nodded, not exactly happy with such an answer, but finding it acceptable, "Your turn."

"Mm," he shrugged, and then Swindle seemed to remember something from years ago, a comment on the orange mech's personality. The mech was all-knowing and all-powerful, but it was debatable on whether he was ever all there.

"Did you ever visit Nevada while on Earth?"

Swindle downed more of his drink, fingers clicking against the rim in a melody he'd found lovely when stuck in vehicle mode in the police impound when one of those fat-ass cops bothered to turn on the radio. He had visited Nevada, but he had the feeling that it had been the wrong place, as it was Vegas and he had actually felt like the place was…not right. He felt like there was something important he was missing and had left immediately.

"Yes, but, I didn't like it. It was so loud and bright and overflowing with people."

"Ah," Sureshock clucked, his glossa flicking over the rim of his drink and Swindle found himself wanting to bite it if he ever got the chance, "So, you visited the state, but the wrong city. Vegas, I assume?"

"Yes. How strange the humans are there," Swindle chuckled, "Dressing up like some dead singer, a marriage site on every corner and almost no morals. It was entertaining for a while, but it lost its luster after the third day."

"You should visit one of the more friendly suburbs," there was that glint in his optics again, and Swindle paid attention, despite knowing it would eventually lead to being cut short and for Swindle to be asked to continue his own line of questioning, unheeded, "All hills and canyons and a school with bright children and a road stretching to a nice, quiet place. You'd love it. Any other questions?"

"Primus, you're infuriating," Swindle ground out, servo winding up the smaller mech's thigh and pressing on the subspace pocket that held the cigarettes, "Give me a cigarette; I want to try one."

That got a laugh out of the other, startling the bartender into almost dropping his next freight to some of the other customers. It couldn't be said that Sureshock's laugh was kind, or really very pleasant—it was nearly as sinister as the more brutal Decepticon's Swindle had met, like Megatron or that wretched, backstabbing Shockwave—but Swindle didn't hear it often and when he did, it left a sort of shiver gliding up and down him like a nice chassis buff. Sureshock kept his smile, and indeed gave the other a cigarette, lithe little fingers—much smaller than Swindle in almost every way, everything about him exuding an utter smallness that Swindle found appealing in a way that didn't touch anyone else—spinning it so that one end was lit by a flame on the end of his smallest digit and the other pointed at Swindle's mouth.

Swindle bent his helm and the cigarette rested on his dentals and then his glossa. There was a quiet urge to bite at those small digits—so bad, so bad—but he didn't. He just closed his mouth around the Clove and sucked in the taste and smoke, its sensations touching his insides.

He coughed.

After inhaling a bit more and then blowing it out, Swindle got on with the next question before the mech decided to leave him in his coughing fit without even a good-bye, "You told me once that you were once on the side of the Autobots, but you drifted away from them and became a neutral. I was wondering why that was."

Sureshock kept his smile, but his optics dimmed in a strange way that Swindle never seen—partly because he'd never seen yellow optics and partly because of the way the optics were wired to take better, more emotional shapes that many could not—and the arms dealer knew he had strained a mean chord. Not unusual, but Swindle always felt bad when he said something Sureshock didn't like, despite not caring about hurt feelings when he spoke to anyone else.

"A long, long time ago," Sureshock started, dentals kneading his Rust Stick, "I agreed whole-heartedly with them on most things, but after I lost my dear friend and my…other halves left my company, I noticed a few cracks along their morality and ability to be fair. And when their perfect leader died so long ago, they lost all sense and became the stupid yahoos they are today. Ruled by a dull old mech stuck in his ways and mechs so stuck in bigotry that they can't see how much the other side is right and hurting. It just got too much to handle and now…Now I prefer my solitude and hobbies."

"Oh…." Swindle took another drag of the Clove and tried to make rings in the air, failing a bit as they waved into themselves, "That would make you how old, exactly?"

Sureshock shrugged, finishing his drink, "Much older than you."

They sat in companionable silence for another few minutes, with Swindle still trying to make smoke rings. When the silence stretched, Sureshock got out of his seat and put the manila folder into his subspace, "I will call you if I need anything. Will that be alright?"

"I didn't even give you my old number."

"I never needed to before," Sureshock grinned. He made to walk away, but found himself taking a step back to grab the cigarette between his fingers. He took the last drag and blew three rings into the air, the butt of the little thing—actually almost the size of a human being proportionally—being crushed in his servo and then dropped to the floor, "Some other time Swindle. Don't forget those Rust Sticks for Lockdown."

"I won't. Bye."

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><p>The walk back to the ship was quiet and strangely short as Swindle was caught up in his own mind. In no time he found himself in the doorway to the ship with a blank look on his features and no actual memory of how he got there.<p>

He kicked his stabilizing servo against the door's side a couple of times to remove the snow from his person and his head tilted to the side when an accented voiced reached him from far inside, where it was warm and dry.

"It took you long enough. Did you get stuck in a blizzard or somethin'?"

"No," Swindle replied with faked luster, moving on and in, "I was just having a conversation with a perfectly handsome stranger."

"Tch," Lockdown scoffed, his visage coming into sight as Swindle turned the corner and his faceplates scrunching up with the notice of the Clove's smell covering the sly arms dealer, "You're such a mech whore."

"Mm, maybe."


	2. A Soft Spot

Word Up: I decided to add onto this because I found this chapter in some old files just waiting to be set free. Enjoy; or don't, whatever make the world turn for you.  
>Warnings: There is a lot of confusing aspects that come from the theory of where sparks come from and what happens if the Transformers are reincarnated and mentions of the Armada universe. Also, if you squint, there is slash between Swindle and Sureshock. Also, I don't know how much time I'll actually be spending on this. These are just some random one-shots within the same story, but sometimes in different months or weeks. Archs will be pulled up and labeled when needed. There will be ABSOLUTELY no OCs in this.<br>Dedication: To the people who reviewed my last chapter, and who wanted a continuance. This is for you. Hope you enjoy it.

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><p><em>-:-<br>I'm your friend, and that means we have to help each other.  
>-Transformers Armada.<em>

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><p><em>"Is he… online?"<em>

_"…I…yes…should be…"_

Not having enough power in his optics to really turn them on after such a long, horribly painful fall off of that tall cliff without his wings to save him, Skywarp—the quivering little thing that he was—had to rely solely on his touch and hearing sensors to tell him what was going on.

It was dark outside, he could tell. It had been so warm and sunny when Megatron and those that followed him had engaged in combat with Starscream and his Seeker clones. Now, Skywarp couldn't feel the sun on his chassis. He could only feel the cold that no doubt came from the river he'd landed in and the temperature drop that came with the night.

And he could feel just the lightest touches of what might have been another mech—or two—checking over his many injuries. He would be quivering so badly if only he could move.

_"Don't just stand there, help me get him into the ship."_

The touches that he had felt along a rather impressive hole in his hip disappeared to be replaced under his arms, none too gently heaving him out of the water; the liquid weight left him in rivulets as he felt another pair of servos grasping delicately at his legs, assisting in moving him wherever he was supposed to go.

_"You're being fairly generous today. First treating me to energon, and now saving some pathetic Seeker? A new record in getting to know you."_

_"Shut up Swindle,"_ the second voice, a little darker than the one above Skywarp's head back talked, the sounds of their moving onto some metallic surface, clanging and echoing filling the dark flyer's hearing, _"And watch your helm; you don't want to end up with another dent in it, do you?"_

A piece of circuitry fell from the linings of where Skywarp's left wing had been before being blown off by either Blitzwing or Megatron—he couldn't remember, he was so tired—along with a very faint squeak from his vocal processors, before he ceased to stay conscious.

"_Well…if he wasn't…dead…before…"_

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><p>There is something warm on top of him. Something soft and smelling of…sort of like those strange human buildings that had things called washing machines inside, humans skittering about with their laundry and clothing and getting them wet in the machines, only to put them inside another machine that spun the linen around for all to see so they could become dry. Skywarp never understood why humans would use the one contraption and then the other, but he could understand that most of the clothing had a wonderful scent afterward. That smell was what was on top of him.<p>

…That made no sense, which actually gave him a reason to freak out.

Hesitantly—as if his optics were the stars in the sky that only came out in the country, far away from the lights of civilization—Skywarp turned on his optics. Blinked. And looked down his chassis to find that, surprise, surprise, there was a large piece of linen draped over him that smelled wonderful. And, as well, his arm was wrapped around some large, soft thing that looked a little like those white carnivores on Earth in Alaska and such. A stuffed polar bear?

"…So, you're telling me that when we, um…"

"Reincarnate."

"Yes, that; we sometimes change to femmes or ground to sky types and vice versa?"

"It's a bit more complex…"

Aside from noticing that he was in a nice, comfy room, atop a wonderful berth and put back together again—save for his missing left wing, but so help him Primus, he would not think of it just at the moment—Skywarp didn't have the presence of mind to remember that someone had been pulling him into this ship before he blacked out. He did not know if they were an enemy—enemies?—but he did understand that he could now hear some mechs talking.

The door to the room was open and he could still faintly hear voices beyond, as well as smell something sweet wafting through the air and through the ship.

Shaking a little, unnerved as he always was, Skywarp got off of the berth very quietly, wrapping the linen over his shoulders (and how nice it felt, even against the still open wiring of his missing wing) and clutching the stuffed creature to his breastplate as he took slow steps toward the door and out into a long winding hall.

The ship he was on was clean, at least, so he wasn't just yet worrying about germs or little things getting into his system, and the place exuded…not perhaps an inviting aura, but not one that perpetually rang "STAY OUT" like Starscream's moon base with Skywarp's siblings. It was sort of nice.

As he crept along the hall—it had a cushy feel to it because of stucco flooring, like wet mud, so he didn't make any noise—and neared the wonderful sound, the voices he had heard rang out again, perhaps in an argument or just a loud conversation.

"…You're kidding, right? Megatron used to be a ground vehicle?"

"Well, yes. A very big one to match his blowhard personality. He wasn't at all as patient back then as he is now. I think time in the Well of Allsparks mellowed him out. At least he's not as _cruel_ as he used to be. And his cause now is somewhat respectable…"

"Was that a compliment I heard? From you to Megatron? Ha!"

"Why not? I compliment _you_, sometimes."

"Yeah, but I'm just too handsome to stay cross with."

Coming to the doorway, Skywarp clutched at the stuffed bear a little harder, squeaking a little but as his form became visible to the two mechs that were sitting in something like the human things he'd seen on Earth. A kitchen, if he remembered, with an island and cupboards and a refrigerator big enough for Cybertronians; the two mechs were sitting on stools before the island, each with a glass—not cube, he noticed—of Energon.

At his shaking, his own metal betraying him by touching and making such undignified noises, the two mechs turned around to look at him, causing him to almost turn around and run, or worse, maybe scream that they please refrain from killing him.

The taller, purple-ish one reacted first, laughing a little at the sight of the Seeker clutching the bear like a sparkling clutching its mother's hand, before raising his glass towards the other orange mech, who simply smiled at Skywarp kindly, still sipping his own drink.

"Well, what do you know, Starscream's missing clone got up quicker than I thought. I suppose this means I owe you a drink, Sureshock."

"Be nice," the other mech scolded, getting up from his spot and gingerly approaching Skywarp, "Are you feeling alright, little one?"

A _little_ note popped up in the back of Skywarp's processor that asked why he was being called _little_ when the orange mech was by far _smaller_ than both the seeker and the other purple mech—not much bigger than the Autobot Bumblebee, and with the some protoform, save for a little more bulk at the arms and legs like the Autobot Prowl that had scared Skywarp so—but the Seeker ignored it pointedly.

Instead of answering directly, he glanced at the other mech, this one having a Decepticon symbol unlike the one before him, wondering just how to answer. He wasn't sure who he should answer anyway; but he knew Starscream would answer a question with a question, so he followed instinct.

"Um, w-where am I?"

"In neutral territory," Swindle grinned from behind his drink, minding little about the look the orange mech sent his way at interruption; that weird grey plate on his head that looked quite along the lines of a headband humans wore when jogging (_bigger on the forehead, though, and it curved close to his hearing processors to make it easier in combat, make no mistake_) moving upwards like human eyebrows and then back down again.

The orange mech looked back on Skywarp kindly, yellow optics (_**Freak**__, a little part of the Seeker whispered like Starscream in person; Cybertronians either had blue or red optics for either side of the war and purple for betrayal or—like Swindle—for aesthetics; anything else either meant coward or strange_) dim and then back to full power as he continued as though there had been no interruption on Swindle's part, "Among friends. We found you in the river and thought you needed help. Were you injured by Autobots or Decepticons?"

Skywarp was taken aback by the quiet questioning, as though he didn't really have to answer if he didn't want to. But he felt, oddly, that he wanted to answer this mech that Swindle was with and who had made the arms dealer help drag Skywarp in for repairs.

It was polite and he wouldn't get in trouble for either answer, he felt.

"D-Decepticons. Starscream sent us into battle… Megatron…"

His shaking, which was inevitable when speaking about anything so terrifying as battle, started up. His servos clutched at the bear (_**Teddy**__-__**bear**__, another part of him whispered that he hadn't heard before and sounded a little still like Starscream if Starscream had ever been nice, which Skywarp doubted greatly_) and he started to hunch into himself like he often did when he was about to break down.

Until he found servos holding him up and leading him back the way he had come. He blinked and found the orange mech leading him, looking—though perhaps not worried—like a choice had been made for this situation.

"You'll recharge a little more and we'll talk after you're rested properly. Does that sound alright?"

"…O-Okay."

He was back on the berth before Skywarp even knew they had reached the room, the orange mech helping him arrange the cloth back where it had been before he'd awakened the first time.

Skywarp was grateful, quietly and asked, even more silent, more with his eyes than anything else, "What's y-your name?"

"Sureshock. We've met."

"We have?"

Surechock nodded, a half-smile in place, but sad more than happy in a fashion that reminded Skywarp of something he had forgotten and wanted to hold before it left him again, "Oh yes. A long, long time ago."

"Go to sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

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><p>The doors to the hallway opened and closed with Sureshock's return sooner than he thought the orange mech would come back from putting to bed Starscream's clone with the worst case of twitching and nerves Swindle had ever seen, but the arms dealer barely thought about it. Sureshock had a habit of doing things—accomplishing most of them—that others could only <em>dream<em> of, so Swindle just grinned at his return with no scratches on him that would have spoken to Skywarp trying to struggle his way off of the ship.

"You big softy," Swindle hummed, glossa catching drops of energon that were finding ways out of his drink carrier and along the lines of his faceplate.

"Shut up."


	3. Building Narration

I perversely dared myself into writing a chapter with mostly just dialogue, to see if I could. I would have liked more, but whatever.

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><p><em>-:-<br>What did you think this was all about? Fun and games?  
>-The Big Lebowski.<em>

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><p><strong>Building Narration<strong>-:-

"Okay, this is a mad, crazy idea, even for you."

"Swindle, I'd like to introduce you to two-thirds of what used to be the Air Defense Team—Runway and Sonar."

"A-And here I-I… thought you w-were… the only o-one."

The large grey and white Autobot with headgear that gave him a rather unfortunate similarity to a rabbit (_ears on a rabbit served a purpose; these length pieces seemed too long on the 'Bot and reminded Swindle of a cyber-ninja he'd once had the misfortune of getting into a fight with by the name of Drift—a former Decepticon_) that had been clipped by a shotgun spoke lowly towards Swindle, optics downright glaring at him through the cell bars of the room in the Autobot stockades the 'Con had been stuck in for what seemed like forever after all the beatings he'd taken, "Oh-ho, Sureshock isn't _that_ special. And even if he is, it's only because he's the only one that's ever run without stopping."

"Not to mention that pain in the ass memory," the other flyer—an _Autobot_ flyer that wasn't the byproduct of Starscream; Swindle never thought he would see something so strange—grinned, nudging the first speaker (Sonar; no wonder he had such big headpieces) to move so Sureshock, the smallest among all of them in the oddly deserted wing of the stockade, could get to work on hacking the codes to get the door to Swindle's cell unlocked.

Swindle wiped the vital fluid from his face and the inside of his mouth that had been there since the night before when a pair of Autobot guards decided he'd be easy to rough up since he'd done nothing but sit in the corner of his cell and try not to pay attention to the sounds of that bomb still stuck in him, ticking away and taunting the mech that every moment could very well be his last. As much as it pained him to admit it, he'd rather that the tiny orange mech not see him injured; otherwise he'd start fussing and slow down this obvious break-out the three before Swindle had engineered.

"You're just jealous 'cause I always remember all the horribly embarrassing situations you've been in and can use it to black-mail you."

"Into shit like this."

"Oh, come on, you know it's gonna be fun."

"Aside from knocking out Autobots that totally _deserve_ being pummeled, how is this going to be fun?"

"I've got my favorite organic fuel in my bag and twenty-seven kinds of long lasting fireworks. We can't _not_ make spark-attack inducing magic happen here!"

"…We're still getting paid for this, right?"

Click. The heavy door gave way with the right codes being gobbled up by the entry unit and Swindle didn't so much see as feel Sureshock kneel beside him; his tiny servo patting him into movement.

"Can you walk?"

"I…My left leg…"

"Lean on me."

"Damn, maybe we shouldn't have given the guardsmen the benefit of the doubt. Can you even see through that optic?"

"…Kinda."

"Lay off, Sonar. Now, who wants to lead the charge? We've got thirteen minutes left on the clock before the monitors turn back on."

"Frag, I'll do it. It'd be worth it just to see one of those musclecars freak out at the sight of these babies."

"Vain tendencies showing there, Runway."

"Shut it, Sureshock; if you didn't like our company, than you shouldn't have called us off the farm."

"…You two work on a farm?"

"Badly. They mostly live off of a little procuring."

"…Proc-c-curing?"

"Later, now let's go."

There was a certain serenit

* * *

><p>y Swindle felt whenever he found himself on Sureshock's ship, in a berth that seemed to be made for his very own self; something he couldn't find anywhere else. It gave him, in waking hours, a powerful sense of déjà vu that made him almost feel like he was remembering art and color and light and high lonely places with dry soil that someone could disappear into on their way to somewhere green and where the oxygen always tasted wet.<p>

Optics turning a frayed color of purple that couldn't quite match up to the same color as a Decepticon symbol, Swindle felt that powerful, memorial feeling again as he came out of unconsciousness and looked up at the ceiling to something Sureshock had told him many times _("Better to awaken to the bright stars or rain splashing on the roof as they make patterns, I think,")_ called a sky light. The thick glass was as big as Swindle was long and he could just make out the linings and design of frost in the bottom corners near his stabilizing servos and a black sky with a constellation Sureshock had jokingly referred to as 'Take No Prisoners' that Swindle, if he could recall correctly with his head spinning and fuzzy at the edges, could remember to be a constellation shown in the sky of Earth's Germany.

'_Fantastic_,' Swindle internally groaned, '_Out of the stockades and back onto this primitive planet_.'

"…Even think about Mirage?"

Swindle's head turned on the berth he occupied (_raw silk was pressed beneath his weight and had the scent of wet trees that grew stronger in his movement; his faceplate rubbing against the whiteness of what Sureshock claimed to come from insects and mean vegetation) _to hear the echoes bouncing off the walls through the hallways and into his room with the open door. The orange mech who fancied saving his life didn't like closed doors shut on his ship and Swindle made note internally to never remedy that.

"…Of course I thought about him."

"…Not much, obviously."

"Indeed…If Cliffjumper ever finds out about this—"

"….Could be in real trouble."

"Mirage…Won't get caught."

There were always these jumbled pauses that happened when Sureshock spoke. Swindle had taken notice a long time ago that the cyclebot spoke better in human languages than he seemed to in Cybertronian. And there was another language that seemed to rely on beeps and hums and other things that made Swindle want to respond so badly sometimes that he could just scream, but he couldn't counter and couldn't find the words to that little hidden language. As if… as if the words had been stolen from him.

These Autobots that had helped both the cyclebot and the arms dealer seemed to suffer these same pauses as Sureshock, but for shorter amounts of time and with better Cybertronians accents. He could hear both the dialect of Iacon and that little village Autobots used to occupy just outside of Chaar before Strika and her oh-so-wonderful (_**gag**_) team destroyed it two million stellar-cycles ago. Sureshock always seemed to breach the human accents of either the British or the German (countries, Swindle like to point out, where it was usually wet) without coming to a decision of what to remain in.

"…And that's another thing. How are you, exactly, going to pay us back for this? Our identities may have been compromised."

"…Exactly. We've worked hard to fly under the radar—if you'll pardon the expression—and actually like where we live."

"…Don't want to move again."

"You won't have to move," Sureshock's voice rang out through the halls and straight through Swindle's door like thunder and clapping winds; agitated and disapproving of being doubted, though still maintaining that calm he exhibited like it was something Ultra Magnus and Megatron could learn from, "There was nobody there that could recognize you with your wings. And once you go back to the energon farm, you'll maintain your figures as ground vehicles, anyway."

"…Very well, very well," the older one, Sonar, agreed finally, "But, we still intend to be rewarded for our services."

There was a long pause, but Swindle could hear noises of footfalls and scrapings of servos brushing against something like cut glass and metal that clinked from something bouncing inside of it. It gave him the image in his processors of that odd little jar Sureshock kept on a mantelpiece in the main area of the ship; a dainty thing painted pewter and always sitting just beneath the mirror that was lovely along the edges but seemed to make Sureshock uncomfortable to look into at any point in time. Swindle never knew what was in the jar, but he'd never been very curious.

He wished he'd asked as he could confirm in his spark that it was that jar and those two 'Bots would fly away with it back to Cybertron as soon as they were finished speaking with Sureshock.

"This'll do the trick for you, I hope."

"…It should. But before we leave, maybe you could answer us a few questions."

"I don't answer questions, Runway; this you know."

"…Why waste all your time and effort saving a Decepticon? And not even a very good one at that."

"…We get that he used to be someone worthy of interaction with and maybe even friendship a long time ago, but Sureshock… surely you realize that he's not going to remember anything?"

"…We remember because you found us before we got our symbols from the Autobots. Mirage remembers because he ran into you at the right speed and in the right place and under the right circumstances. But, Sureshock, he is now who he is now and won't be who he used to be."

"…And all this holding onto the past, hoping for someone to remember the good times with… It isn't healthy, Sureshock."

"I don't expect him to remember, Sonar, so don't take that condescending tone with me."

"…Then what do you expect?"

"Not much. But I like him; what other reason do I need to get to know him for what and who he is now? I don't need a reason, I think."

"…I still don't think it's healthy."

"What you think doesn't matter when it comes to this issue."

There was more scuffing on the floor and Swindle smiled when he realized that the younger Autobot was probably nervous as the two older mechs glared at each other. A glass could have broken somewhere and he would have bet the two of them would not have budged from their objectionable concern and indifference pointed at the other.

Sureshock broke the silence. Swindle figured he would as he got bored so easily.

"I got what I wanted out of you two and you have your payment. Now, return to whatever shack is home to you; I'll get in contact if I need you again."

"…So _typical_."

There was stomping out and into what must have been the German wilderness, the first pair of stabilizing servos not caring if the exit to the ship was scorched as heated boosters lit up on the way out, but the other pair was lighter and paused before hopping out onto pebbled dirt that also had water that splashed on contact with the Autobot. Swindle was sure it was Sonar that took off in anger and Runway was the more delicate in his exit.

What a pair they made.

When the exit ramp shut and Swindle could no longer hear the sounds of the jet engines or the wind whipping around in hopes to drench the outside landscape in fresh snow, Swindle actually managed to hear nothing for a moment.

Just a moment.

Then his vents seized with his own gasping in realization. This realization being quite simple: That ticking of the bomb was no longer there. That horrible little repetition of _tick_-_tick_-_tick_ that he had been hearing since his capture—even before his capture—in both his waking and recharging hours, had vanished.

….Then came the realization that he probably really, really, really owed Sureshock one Hell of a favor sunk into his processors.

Being happy warred with being concerned.


End file.
